A Day of Sun and Pain
by Dr.Linkenshloff
Summary: Ask, and ye shall recieve: the sequel to A Night of Blood and Iron. John almost dies from something very plebeian, and Chas is guilty. Slash, JohnChas.
1. Prologue

**Title:** A Day of Sun and Pain

**Pairing:** John/Chas

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

**Rating:** I'd say a 14-A

**Summery**: A sequel to a Night of Blood and Iron. John and Chas get in a car accident.

**Note (Important, please read): **You may wish to know now thatthis is now sort of beta'd. By me. I added in quite a few things, changed around some words, put a bit more into the last scene and I've broken it up a little bit. I'm thinking about writing a little extra in at the end there, full of slashy goodness as per several people's requests. This is though, only a consideration, I'll see if anyone wishes the pass the motion.

* * *

_For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction._

Newton.

* * *

**Prologue**

The sun was just leaving its final tentative touches on the loosely gathered clouds when a step resounded in the evening silence behind the boy lying sprawled on the patio.

He had been there all afternoon and evening, trying to lure the chipmunks to take little pieces of bread from his hands. Each time one poked its head over the side of the porch, he'd wait with bated breath and nary a movement. The little mammal would sneak forward and snatch the morsel from him then scamper away.

He almost had this last one, the shyest of the lot. It was sitting at the very edge of patio, ready to run if the boy moved even an inch. Its dark, quizzical eyes had the boy transfixed as he waited with a most unchildlike patience to feel the tiny paws on his hands one last time. That is, until the step behind him ruined it.

"Mom!" he cried in anguish as a chipmunk streaked away into the gloom of the falling shadows. "I almost had him!"

The last of the sunlight fell gently on his mother's face as she smiled in apology at the boy scrambling to his feet. She reached out a hand to her youngest son and gently smoothed down his rampant curls.

"I'm sorry dear, but it's far past your bedtime and we have to be up early tomorrow to get back to the city and be ready for school on Monday."

At the mention of school, the boy's eyes widened and a tinge of fear entered them. In the last light of the dying day, his face appeared to be sunken in shadow, his eyes barely visible, but the fear was there.

"No," he said with a little shake of his head, "I'm not going back, not there."

She sighed. "Chas, dear, we've talked about this. Mr. McKauly says that it must have been the afternoon sunlight, it'll be fine, I promise."

Her words had quite the opposite effect on him than was intended. At the mention of Mr. McKauly, full blown fear entered his eyes and his little body began to shake violently. "No! I never want to see him again!" With that he ran into the rented cabin and flung himself onto his bed, small hiccupping sobs muffled by the pillow he was pouring out his terror to.

He soon felt the warm, soothing hand of maternal love smoothing back his hair and a voice murmuring soft condolences until his tears abated. His mother continued to run her hand through his soft curls until his breathing had slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep, then knelt by her son's side and began to pray.

* * *

"Out! Out! The both of you!" She shrieked at the two rampant children running in circles around the cabin. "Go get in the car!"

"But Chas thinks that it's his turn to be in the front seat, when it's actually mine. So we agreed that whoever could finish going into all of the rooms ten times the fastest gets to sit in the front." Josh looked up with wide, guileless, innocent eyes that didn't fool his mother one bit.

"Chas thinks it's his turn to sit in the front because it _is_ his turn. No more running out of either of you, go get in the car."

Sulkily, with many glaring backward looks, the brothers walked towards the car with dragging feet that kicked up dust which immediately went to the wind blowing off the mountains.

Chas stuck his tongue out at Josh as he got in the front seat. He had nearly gotten in an insult when the boy's young, but formidable mother wrenched open the door and tossed the last bag in beside Josh.

"Sit," she said with a glare, "and no talking."

For the most part they did just that, sat and watched their mom starting up the car and muttering about blessed silence as they started on their way back to the city. When the light was _just_ right though, they could make faces at each other in the windows and mirrors. Conveniently, the light was just right quite a bit that day and there was a lot of stifled giggling going on between the back seat and front.

Chas had the most perfect face that he was going to use next. He could move his eyes in opposite directions - just like that Disney character he couldn't remember the name of – and he considered that his trump card against his brother. He knew that Josh was wild with envy since he couldn't do it. He had it all ready to go just as the sun and trees were lined up to get optimal face making light, then he saw from the corner of his eye a women walking down the street.

A woman with a peculiar light in her eye and a melting face. His world went cold and dark in almost an instant, the only emotion that resounded through his body was fear, and that he had in abundance; which only grew as he noticed something hiding in her shadow. Something magnanimously ugly and large. He screamed and threw himself as far from the window as he could, which meant right into his mother.

A squealing of breaks, a shattering of glass and a low cry of despair was all he heard but he could see his brother's face in the window. The sunlight was just right to make a face at him, and he could see the visage below Josh's brown curls. It was twisted with terror. That was the last thing he saw before swimming down into darkness.

* * *

He felt a terrible pain in his head when he woke up, but the first thing to mind and out of his mouth was: "Mommy?"

A female face appeared above his own, but it wasn't his mom's. In a haze of drugs and pain, he tried to place her.

"I'm sorry Chas, your mom isn't here right now, she's…" said his aunt in a voice that trailed off into uncertainty.

Something was wrong, but he couldn't wrap his mind around anything, it was all one big blur.

"Why not?"

"I - " She swallowed. "She doesn't want to see you."

He stared at her in black incomprehension. Why wouldn't his mom want to see him? She'd never liked hospitals, said they were too white and smelly, and filled with people Darwin would have hated. But why wasn't she here?

His aunt cleared her throat slightly. "I'm – I'm sorry Chas, but it's because Josh didn't make it."


	2. Entrée

**Title:** A Day of Sun and Pain

**Pairing:** John/Chas

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

**Rating:** I'd say a 14-A

**Summery**: A sequel to a Night of Blood and Iron. John and Chas get in a car accident.

**Note (Important, please read): **You may wish to know now thatthis is now sort of beta'd. By me. I've broken it up a little bit, and I'm thinking about writing a little extra in at the end there full of slashy goodness as per several people's requests. This is though, only a consideration, I'll see if anyone wishes the pass the motion.

* * *

**Entrée**

By now Chas had successfully categorized, labeled and shelved all the books into a dingy back closet of John's flat. He knew them so well that if he needed to check some obscure fact he would be able to stumble his way to the closet, run his hand along the spines to find the exact one, pull it out and find the precise page that he needed. All in the dark. He could do the same with all the libraries in the city as well.

Did any of this sway John? _Of course not,_ he snarled, _I could learn everything in that fucking library and he still wouldn't let me help him._ A pop can went tumbling out onto the street as he aimed a vicious kick at it.

_Whoops,_ came the thought when a car swerved to avoid it. _My bad._

He aimed another kick at a small pebble just for good measure, which promptly hit John's car. _Shit, I hope he doesn't notice._

"You'd better hope that didn't leave a scratch."

_Fuck_.

He turned just in time to catch the keys being thrown at him, quick reflexes being the only thing that saved him from a face full of metal.

"Yeah, yeah, kiss my ass. Your precious car's fine," he muttered, sliding into the driver's seat after unlocking the door.

He waited. Tapped his hands against the wheel. Rolled his eyes. "John. Hey, John. _Constantine_. I already told you the fucking car's fine, let's go already."

John stood up slowly from where he was examining the place the rock hit. His eyes locked with Chas's and he slammed his hands down onto the open window. "I don't _appreciate_ my car getting hit by a rock." Each word had been allowed to stew in his mouth before finally being spit out in a quick display of temper.

"Whoa John, I'm sorry okay? Your car's fine."

He wrenched open the back door and stepped into the car like someone going into battle. "Just. Drive." He ordered in a very low and soft voice. The same voice was often the last thing demons heard before being deported back to Hell.

Chas drove.

"So, uh, hard demon?" He said in a desperate attempt to quell the rising menace sitting in the back seat. John was just plain _scary_ when he was like this. It was almost like putting God and Satan in the same room and letting them at it.

"Yes."

An uneasy silence fell onto the interior of the car like a sledgehammer dropped from a twenty story building.

"You know," Chas swallowed almost imperceptivity, "I could help you out on some of this shit. I mean, fuck, there's probably something I could do."

"No."

Even though he didn't want to, Chas could feel the familiar irritation and anger growing inside him. It was always like this, Constantine being too much of an ornery bastard to even let him watch, never mind help. "Why the Hell not you fucker? I know at least as much as you, you know I do."

"You're not ready yet."

"Like Hell I'm not ready! I've studied every one of those books you gave me; I bet you don't even know what's in half of them." His absolute frustration about not doing _anything_ was going to take over pretty soon, and he was determined to let John Constantine get the full brunt of it.

John pulled out a cigarette and snapped open the lighter before answering.

"I'll tell you when you're ready, kid."

"Fuck this!" Chas brought his hand down on the steering wheel with such force that they swerved a bit into the opposite lane. "All I've ever been is your personal slave, not your fucking apprentice. All I've done this last year is read; when I said I'd be your apprentice I was expecting more demons and less lugging books and your ass around. I'm sick of this John - "

"Fuck Chas, keep your eyes on the road and slow the hell down."

He kept right on ranting as though John had never interrupted him. "I may as well head off on my own for all the good you're doing me – which is jack shit. You won't even let me watch for fucks sake! How the hell am I suppose to learn anything if you keep - "

Chas never got to finish his sentence. A light that had been a moment before green, changed to red and a car coming in from the left slammed into their side. His eyes immediately flicked to the rearview mirror, and the last thing he saw was John's usually deadpan expression change to something he'd never seen, before a stabbing pain entered his mind and he lost consciousness.

* * *

He could breathe. That's good. That's what matters. Inhale, exhale. Repeat.

He could move. That's good, always a bonus. He tested that by wiggling all his fingers and toes, then squirming a bit, just to make sure everything worked.

He could see. Not so good. White, white and more white. _Hospital,_ his mind spat in loathing.

He could think. That was good too. Until his foggy mind wrapped around exactly what had happened to land him here.

He could speak. "John." His voice didn't work very well, but he still managed the words none the less. "Shit. _Shit._ "

He threw back the sheets and got to his feet as fast as he could. Everything was fine until he took the first step, and then he was down on his face with his nose feeling very squashed. _Damn backless hospital gowns_. His ass was rather charmingly bare for all the world to see. Or rather, the one nurse who walked in at that moment.

She of course tsked and fretted, all while helping him back to his bed. When he managed to find a small chink in her never ceasing monologue and enough energy to speak, he said, "John."

She glanced up at him with a start. "What was that dear?"

"John, he was in the car with me." His unfocused eyes ran over everything in the room, as if looking for the fastest way out. "Is he okay?"

Her eyes filled with sympathy and she said in a very soft voice, "I'm sorry dear - "

With those words, his heart _stopped_. Chas tuned out everything in the world and his mind went spinning down into blackness with a soundless, voiceless scream that once started, never seemed to stop. His mental vision narrowed down to the last time they'd spoke. Anger, he'd been yelling at him. And now he was gone. Everything was black, complete and utter darkness. _Shit John, I'm going to get you out of Hell even if it means slicing my wrists and coming after you._ Despair just landed a left hook.

" – he's in the intensive care ward, the doctors just aren't sure yet," her voice trailed off. "My dear, you've gone completely white!"

"So he's not dead?" Chas finally managed to gasp out, the darkness receding a bit.

"No, no my dear," she was quick to assume him, "but he's lost a lot of blood and still hasn't regained consciousness. There is always a chance…that he may not make it."

"Shit," he said softly. The light was there, a little glimmer at the end of a tunnel. "Can I see him?" His voice cracked on the last word.

She shook her head regretfully. "I'm afraid not dear, not until he's stabilized." She fussed around him a little more, making small talk, no doubt trying to get his mind off of John.

"You have a concussion dear, it's bad too. You're staying here so we can monitor your sleep, all your other injuries are just some minor cuts and bruises, and they're healing just fine."

He was tired, so tired. The room was starting to look like something you'd see from a rollercoaster. "Will you get me as soon as I can see John?" he yawned out.

"Of course dear," she murmured as she left the room.

* * *

It was two days until he was allowed to see John, two days of unrelenting guilt and fear. Chas had been released after that first day, and told to go home; the doctor said he'd call just as soon as he was able to see him. So he waited. He perched himself on the couch, staring at the phone. When he had to sleep, it was on the floor right below it. When he had to move, it was with the hushed steps of someone walking in a graveyard. When he had to eat, he made sure his chewing made as little noise as possible. He wasn't going to miss that phone call. He finally decided that he couldn't put off taking a bath any longer, he could smell himself and it was making him wrinkle his nose.

The phone rang.

Chas's eyes widened and he let out a string of invectives that would have caused any priest to proclaim heart failure. He shot up out of the bath causing water to fly everywhere, and ran for the phone completely naked. He fumbled with the receiver, gasping out a hello and then feeling all the worry and fear for John's life being lifted. It was like getting off a rollercoaster of terror, feeling sick and horrible, but elated at the same time because he'd survived the ride. John was going to be alright. No, he couldn't go home yet, but he'd likely be released in a few days. Yes, he was allowed to see him.

The next hours passed in a flurry of movement, most of which he scarcely recalled. It mostly consisted of running around in circles, trying to remember everything, and promptly forgetting what he had just remembered. Accompanied by much swearing. He found himself in front of a reception desk, asking in a trembling voice for John Constantine's room.

The receptionist looked so damn cheery when she told him the number that he wanted to punch her and scream out everything he'd been thinking, everything he'd been feeling the last few days. The guilt, the fear, the nights of sleeplessness, the days of hunger; he wanted her to feel it all. Instead he said thank you.

He hated hospitals. They all smelled funny, and had old people carrying IV's around with them in hospital gowns. And everything was so _sterile_ and white. _Why couldn't the walls be painted different colours? _he thought sourly, _then at least people wouldn't get the feeling they're insane and in a white padded room_.

260…258… _Fuck, wrong way_. 268…272… Room 274. He opened the door.

He looked like shit. That was the only way to describe it. His black tousled hair lay in such a contrast to the white sheets, but his pale face – now even paler – blended right in. His face bore the signs of a couple days without shaving, and the dark stubble showed just how starkly white his face really was. Chas's eyes traveled over the rest of his body. He couldn't see most of the bandages, but he knew that under the sheets his chest was bound – a couple broke ribs, one of them had pierced his lung.

John's eyes twitched open and Chas let out of the breath he'd been holding. Finally, some animation, he'd just looked so lifeless lying there. Like he'd died, but the doctors forgot to put him in the morgue.

"Hey kid," a low and very weak voice whispered, "looks like we shouldn't talk about you coming demon hunting when you're driving, huh?"

Chas froze. Everything that he'd been feeling over the last two days was suddenly multiplied by a thousand. Guilt, fear, wishing a hundred times that it had been him and not John, all of it reached out and took its place on his shoulders, weighing him down until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, John, shit," the last word was mutilated by a sob that rose in his chest as he stumbled over to the chair by his bed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I won't argue with you ever again, I won't ask to come along, I'll keep on reading whatever the hell you want me too - "

A sharp, barking laugh startled him out of his litany of sorrow. "Don't make promises you can't keep kid."

Chas took in a deep, shuddering breath, then raised his head from his hands and glared at him, "Fuck _you_ Constantine. If you ever scare me like that again, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself." His eyes glittered with unshed tears that were threatening to fall in a very menacing manner. They finally did.

John reached up and brushed the tears away. "Stop crying you asshole, you don't look good in tears."

Chas looked at him suspiciously. "Whatever the hell they have you on, it's gotta be a hell of a lot of it. Morphine?"

"Yeah."

* * *

He didn't remember much about the last few days. At first it was mostly doctors rushing around him and loud voices calling for one thing or another. Then silence. Time has no meaning when you're mostly unconscious. Then Chas came, that was the first clear thing that he had a memory of. He looked terrible, like he hadn't been sleeping or eating at all.

He probably shouldn't have said what he did to Chas, but it was the first thing that came to mind, and with these drugs, even that was an accomplishment. Then wiping his tears away; these drugs were turning his mind into a murky pond.

He was defiantly not lucid. Every time Chas asked him something, he'd have to scramble after the answer, and then he'd trip over his words and say something incredibly stupid. The kid enjoyed hearing this way too much; John could see him trying not to snigger. He was glad that to took his mind off the accident. It was Chas's fault, mostly, but he didn't want to think about it, he just wanted to move on and forget about it. Who would believe that the great John Constantine almost died from a car accident instead of a demon anyways?

His mind was off drifting on an open sea, and everything had faded into darkness. He started to wonder why it had suddenly turned into night, when he realized that his eyes were closed. _Dumbass, _his mind thought lazily at himself, unwilling to get off the boat that was lulling him to sleep. The last thing he heard was a rustle of fabric right above him, then a light brush of lips on his forehead. A hand ran over his unwashed hair.

"Ugh, you really need a shower John," a voice muttered.

* * *

Four more days of the hospital, and then he was out. They had to make sure he could survive the pain without the morphine, and all he had to say to that was: Fuck. Off. In a delusion of pain of course.

Chas was there the entire time, curled up in the chair sleeping, or eating a mars bar from the vending machine. They had an argument about that once, John saying that he should eat something healthier than that, Chas replying that he would just as soon as John stopped smoking. That ended the conversation.

Chas finally got him checked out, probably helped by the fact that John would cuss out any doctor who came into his room. The doctors didn't want him there anymore than he wanted to be. They caught a cab home, a pretty expensive trip during the rush hour traffic, but he didn't care. He was out of that damn place for good.

He had a lot of trouble getting up to his flat, more than he thought he would. He couldn't put a lot of weight on one ankle, or screaming pain would come at him from all directions. He hated to admit it, but he needed Chas, who he used like a living crutch.

Bath. That's all he could think about. Submersing his body into the scorching hot water, scrubbing his hair until it shined, and finally being _clean_. Chas kept on wanting to be helpful, hovering around him and generally being more of a nuisance than he usually was. He finally got him out of the bathroom with a few snarled words that made Chas looked like a kicked puppy.

The water was flowing into the tub at a rapid rate, and John had never seen anything quite to beautiful. It was a painful process, getting off his clothes, but he was _not_ going to let Chas help him with that. There are limits you know.

When he finally sunk neck deep into the water, he met out a moan of pure bliss. This, this was pure heaven.

* * *

Food, that's what this places needed. Chas gazed at the interior of the fridge, and wondered how the hell John hadn't managed to die starvation. There was a sour carton of half full milk and a bit of lunch meat.

Alright, food. After days of sleeping in a hard chair and eating chocolate bars from the vending machine, all he wanted to do was eat until he was stuffed and then lie down to sleep and not get up until he was damn ready to. But once again he dragged his tired ass out to the store to buy food for John Constantine.

When John finally got out of the bathroom, he noticed it was quiet. And not the quiet that's in a house when someone's sleeping or reading, but the quiet of a place abandoned.

"Chas?"

Nothing. He shrugged slightly, winced at the pain then made his slow painful way to the bedroom to get some comfortable clothes to wear. He padded softly back into the main room still wondering where Chas was and folded himself down onto the couch to wait.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he heard was the sound of something boiling over and Chas saying, "Shit."

"What th'hell?" He sat up slightly, still groggy from what he assumed was sleep…at least, it better be.

"Chicken noodle soup," said Chas a matter of factly, "come eat."

John stared at him. "Chicken noodle soup? You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Nope, and you'd better eat it before it gets cold."

John was still staring at him. There was something at the edge of his mind that he couldn't quite put his finger on, something different about Chas. It wasn't the fact that Chas was making him chicken noodle soup, though that _was _fairly strange, there was something else about him… The shirt he was wearing under his vest, the one he hadn't changed out of since he got to the hospital. He hadn't made the connection before this.

"Why the fuck are you wearing my shirt?"

The white business shirt peeked out from under Chas's vast as he looked first as John, then down at himself.

"I, uh, it was the first thing that was around when the doctor called." His face was rapidly being colored into a tomato red shade. "Sorry, I'll take it off," he muttered as he shrugged off his vest and started to unbutton John's shirt.

"Forget it kid," he said in a tired voice as he circled around the couch and lowered himself into a chair at the table. "But this has got to stop."

Chas's fingers froze at the button he was undoing. "What?" he asked cautiously.

"It wasn't your fault."

The kid looked so vulnerable, standing in his kitchen, wearing his shirt half unbuttoned and his eyes looking like he was lost and couldn't be found.

"It was," he whispered, looking like a lonely child.

"It doesn't matter either way, just leave it and move on." John took a mouthful of soup and made a face.

"I _can't_." Chas slammed his hands down on the table, spilling soup and causing a spoon to fall to the ground with a clatter. "What th'hell would have happened if you'd died John? Ever thought of that? You're not fucking allowed to die until I say so. I'm not going to have anyone else die because of me!"

John was staring at him again; he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. "What'd you mean, have anyone else die because of you?"

The kid's eyes had a stunned quality to them, like he'd just let slip something that he hadn't meant to. He looked so young like that. He sank slowing down into the chair and rested his head in his hands. "My brother," he muttered to the table. "He died in a car crash when I was eight. And it was my fault."

Silence fell over the small flat, the only sounds been the ones coming off the street, honking of hones and squealing tires. John simply waited.

"It was the second demon I ever saw. I was sitting in the front seat and when I saw it I screamed and threw myself straight into my mom who was driving. She lost control and we got hit by another car and Josh died. She never forgave me."

"Shit," John said softly.

He raised his head slightly and gave a strangled laugh. "I can't lose you John, don't you get it? I love you, but you're too damn blind to see it."

The spoon stopped halfway to John's mouth as he gaped at his so called apprentice. His mind went completely blank, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He just stared as Chas like he had a second head.

Chas stared back.

"Fuck _you_ John, can't you just saying anything? Even if you're telling me to get the hell out?"

John still said nothing. His dark eyes stared at that Chas were full of unfathomable meaning.

Chas finally gave a jerky nod and his expression stiffened into a hard mask. He got up from the table and started to pack up his clothes and other knick knacks he'd left around John's house. John just watched him.

Chas halted for a second then reached up to finish unbuttoning John's shirt then tossed it in his general direction when he was done. He went back to his bag to get another shirt but whirled about when he heard a stumbling noise and grunt. He managed to catch John just before he hit the ground; he'd gotten up to acquire his shirt.

_Shit John, who's going to take care of you now that I'm leaving_ his eyes widened, and he realized just a little bit too late that he'd spoken out loud.

John was down on his hands and knees and he coughed out an incomprehensible answer.

"What?"

His barely audible voice reached Chas's ears. "Don't leave."

Chas leaned back a bit from him, and snarled, "Why not you fuck? You've made it clear that you don't want me here."

John lifted his head until he was staring Chas in the eyes, and with no signal from either of them, their lips met in hunger and desperation, the grief and pain and fear of the last few days finally found their outlet. Emotions poured between the two, tongues touching and exploring each others mouths with the ardor of someone who needs a confidant but who doesn't want to speak.

Their hands ran over each others bodies, touching, learning each other with a desperate need that required no words. Chas was so careful with John, like he was fine china that at a mere glance or wrong touch would smash into a thousand pieces that could never be repaired. What he lacked for in touching, he more than made up by throwing himself enthusiastically into kissing John for all he was worth. Everything he'd felt for the last year came forth in a combination of lips and tongue and teeth. He sucked lightly on John's lower lip then nipped it just for good measure, drawing the slightest amount of blood.

"You're mine," he said as he edged closer.

John was amused by the delicate whispery touches Chas was raining down on him, he wasn't hurt _that_ badly. He didn't care though, he loved the taste of the kid. His skin was smooth under his hands and his soft, delicate mouth was eagerly kissing his own. The soft purring noises Chas was making didn't hurt either. Though when he bit his lip, that hurt just slightly.

John sucked in his breath as one of Chas's hands brushed over his broken ribs and drew back slightly.

"Don't even think about leaving kid, this isn't finished yet."

A grin lit up Chas's face. "Damn right were not done here, we haven't even fucked yet."

John laughed then stopped, clutching his ribs, "Yeah you cocky asshole, that comes later."

For an answer, Chas pulled his head back down and laughing, kissed him again. "I never planned on leaving you asshole; I just did that so you'd kiss me."


End file.
